Playing With Fire
by Tilea
Summary: Phoenix and Miles are held hostage by extremist, and at gunpoint, Phoenix is forced to shoot the man he loves. PWAKM prompt-inspired.


**Playing With Fire**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Ace Attorney. If I did, we'd have AAI2 in the west, and no I won't quit bringing it up!

Coughing…

Someone was coughing, almost retching, and the sound echoed in what seemed to be an empty blackness surrounding his senses. He felt numb at first, but soon, a blunt, throbbing pain registered in the back of his head, as if he had been stricken there…

The next thing he heard was a groan, but this sounded much closer, and after a few moments, he recognized his own voice, sounding groggy and pained. His brain hadn't quite caught up to his body, if that even made any sense. Regardless, he was waking up from… something… If he could only remember what…

It wasn't until he opened his eyes that memories started to return to him. The courthouse, the courtroom: he knew instantly where he was, though he was lying on the hardwood floor, staring up at the high ceiling. His head lay by the defense's stand, the large wooden structure blocking his view of the rest of the room. Everything was still hazy, but he vaguely recalled screaming… gun blasts, and-

A terrible, agonized scream interrupted his thoughts and drove them far away. The sound made him lurch, and he was most certainly awake now. Whoever had screamed like that was now gasping for air, and then they screamed again, as if… as if someone was being tortured! It was a man's voice, surely, but who else was in here, and why wasn't anyone stopping it?

As quickly as possible, though that wasn't saying much, the dazed defense attorney clambered up off the floor, only making it to his hands and knees before his view of the courtroom was such that he could see the source of the awful noise, and he felt his heart leap into his throat and stop.

"M-Miles!"

The sight before him nearly caused his consciousness to vacate once again. Lying on the floor, one of his arms up past his head and his wrist bound to one of the vertical poles that supported the railing near the prosecutor's bench, was Miles Edgeworth. His red suit jacket and cravat lay forgotten several yards away, leaving him in the white dress shirt and black vest he wore beneath, which were currently soaked in what had to be blood. His left arm – unbound – was extended out to the side, but it was far from useful. It was bent at a disturbing angle, and it was currently being crushed beneath the weight of a large, black boot heel.

A man stood over him, a man Phoenix instantly recognized as the witness he had been cross-examining before this – whatever this was – had happened. He was wearing a black three-piece suit and sported neatly-combed blond hair, and though his back was to the defense attorney, Wright clearly remembered that his face had been covered with a dark red leather mask.

However, Phoenix hardly cared who the man was at this point. The son of a bitch was torturing Miles! How could he just sit here and let this happen to his lover! "You bastard! Get off of him!" he shouted, finding the strength within him to stand up, for he wasn't exactly a threat on all fours.

The screaming from the battered prosecutor stopped, dying down once again to ragged gasps for air and hisses of pain. The blond man stepped off of his broken arm and slowly turned around, his hidden face peering back at Phoenix. The mask did not hide his mouth, and the smirk he wore was clearly visible.

"Finally…" said a sinister, silky voice. "I was beginning to think we'd hit you just a little too hard, Mr. Wright. If you'd spent anymore time sleeping, little Miles here wouldn't have been fit to join in our game."

"Game?" Oh, this was not good at all. He didn't need any more information to see that they were facing a psychopath. "What is this? What have you done?" Wright moved forward, attempting to get down to the main floor from the defense bench and reach his injured partner, but the sound of a 'click' from behind him made him freeze. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder, and he spotted two more men standing there with guns raised, each dressed identical to the first with red masks and blond hair. Shaking, Wright began to look around, and to his horror, there were several of these guys standing at different points in the courtroom, and though they might have been varying sizes, they were all practically clones of one another, considering their faces could not be seen.

"I suggest you play along, Mr. Wright," said the man in the center of the room, stepping back with his right leg to place his heel upon Edgeworth's chest. He began to grind that heel into the man's ribs, making him cough and groan weakly. "The more you cooperate, the sooner your little fuck toy's suffering will end."

Fuck toy! What was this guy TALKING about? Yes, he and Miles were lovers, but it was a good, healthy relationship! He had to believe this jackass was just taunting them, adding insult to injury. Nonetheless, Phoenix gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, wanting so badly to rush this guy and choke the life out of him for what he was doing, but if he moved, he'd be killed, and that would leave Miles alone and helpless.

"That's better," said the ring leader. "Now, allow me to answer some of your questions. We belong to a world-wide organization that is spreading like wildfire, a fire that has been set to cleanse the ugly filth and corruption that has grown like a fungus on this planet, choking the life out of everything it touches. I see no reason to delve into the specifics, but in simple terms, you've caused us quite a bit of trouble, you and this pathetic, double-crossing prosecutor." He lifted his heel, giving Miles a chance to breathe, but only to bring it back to kick the anguished man in the side.

"Stop hurting him!" Wright demanded, his low-cut nails digging so hard into his palms that they were beginning to bleed. "All I was doing was defending my client, and all Miles was doing was-"

"Helping you defend your client," their captor cut him off, his voice just as calm and smooth as ever. "As reluctant as we were to put our plan in the hands of this pretty boy faggot, we expected him to put that meddling reporter behind bars and out of our hair. And yet, little did we know, it's your cock he's got his mouth on."

Phoenix couldn't help it: he banged his fist against the side of the defense bench, furious at being spoken to this way. "Hey! I don't know what you're fucking problem is with our relationship, but this trial had NOTHING to do with it! We keep our personal lives out of the courtroom, and all Miles was doing was working to find the truth! If you're trying to stomp out corruption, maybe you should look in a mirror!"

The masked man just started to laugh, and his laugh was echoed by many of the other occupants of the room. "We do God's work, Mr. Wright, and those who would impede the will of God AND spit in his face by committing such a despicable sin as homosexuality must be purged!" His voice had now taken on the tone of an evangelist, that clear, commanding, and dramatic announcement followed by a call of approval from the other men in the room.

"Y… You're a bunch of those religious terrorist types, aren't you?" Wright stammered, wondering how he could have possibly gotten mixed up in something like this. They were just Los Angeles attorneys, not even involved in these crazy religious wars. He himself barely gave any thought to the subject, and he knew that Miles was openly atheist… though on second thought, those things probably didn't help their case.

"Terrorists, radicals, Neo-Nazis: we've been labeled with so many stigmas," said the ring leader. "All you need to know is that we won't stand for what happened here today. The police and bailiffs are much too busy dealing with some of our other men to save you, so you have no choice but to face your fate." The mouth beneath that mask curved once more into a smirk, and the man took a few steps away from Edgeworth. "Now, I'm sure you'd like a chance to…. _hold him _once again," he said, the words 'hold him' spoken with as much disdain as one person could put into those short syllables.

Phoenix paused momentarily, glancing around at the men holding guns, trying to figure out if he was actually being given an opening. He decided to chance it, and ran down to the main floor, his speed increasing as he got closer and closer to his lover before he finally dropped down to the floor and slid the last couple of feet to reach him.

"Miles!" he exclaimed, though his voice wasn't very loud. He was even more horrified when he was close enough to see the true extent of Miles' injuries. His face was bruised, his upper lip split and bleeding. The bruising beneath his left eye was so dark that he was sure his cheek bone had been fractured or broken, and the bruising continued down to his neck. He couldn't really see anymore of the injuries, but there were obviously lacerations beneath his shirt, as told by the dark red stains soaking through the formerly pristine white fabric.

Miles stared up at Phoenix through cloudy, pained eyes, and opened his mouth as if to speak. He took in a deep, ragged, shaky breath, but he couldn't seem to get anything out.

"Oh God…" Phoenix whispered, ignoring all of the appalled people standing around him as he leaned over to lightly embrace the beaten man. "Miles, I'm so sorry…"

"Ph…. Ph…."

"Shhhh…." The defense attorney hushed him, trembling with the fear that his lover's condition instilled in him. "I'll get help… Y-you're going to be okay…." To be honest, he was trying to convince himself of this more than Edgeworth, but if he could offer some comfort in the process, he'd be damned if he didn't try.

Unfortunately, they didn't have much time to themselves, for the familiar 'click' of a gun caused them both to flinch and tense up.

"I think that's enough time," said their captor. "Get up, Mr. Wright."

As terrified as he was, Phoenix was also livid. He turned to glare daggers up at the blond man, more rage in his bright blue eyes than anyone had probably ever seen before. "You sadistic FUCKER!" he snarled, slowly getting up to face that gun head-on. "There is NO justification for this! Whether you think killing people you don't like is right or not, there is NO reason to TORTURE him!"

"I never asked for your opinion on our methods," the masked man retorted calmly. "Nevertheless, I do agree. It is time to show him some mercy; he has suffered quite enough for his betrayal."

He didn't like this… They were not about to be let go; he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Here you are, Mr. Wright." That gun that had just been cocked was now being held out, and Wright's eyes widened in shock and confusion. "You seem to care so much for him, so is it not fitting that you should be the one to put him out of his misery?"

It felt as if his ribcage had just contracted and crushed his heart and lungs into dust. No… No! This wasn't happening! "W-what? No! Sick bastard! How can you expect me to-?"

"Consider the alternative, Mr. Wright," the man said, still holding the gun out to him. "The one you… 'love'… is suffering, and he will continue to suffer until his body and mind can no longer handle the pain, which – given the amazing resilience of the human body and spirit – could be quite some time."

Slowly, Phoenix turned to look down at his poor love, watching as silent tears dripped from the corners of his blackened eyes. It was an unbearable sight, one that would be burned into his psyche for the rest of his days. And, as he gazed down upon the fading man, he heard that sinister, hated voice from behind him.

"So, it is your choice: Give him the mercy of a swift, clean death, or sit by and watch us send him to Hell, nice… and slow…."

Of all the tough decisions Phoenix had ever had to make during the span of his entire twenty-six years of life, this was by far the most difficult. He didn't want Miles to suffer anymore, but… did that really mean he had to… kill him…?

He soon became aware of the feel of hot tears sliding down his own cheeks, unable to prevent them as the magnitude, the hopelessness of this situation truly hit him. Trembling uncontrollably, he turned to face the monster causing all of this, and at a snail's pace, reached for the gun. He took it into his hands, unable to stop shaking.

"Very good," the masked man said while one of his comrades came forward and bent down to unbind Miles' unbroken arm. Phoenix watched helplessly as the person he loved more than anything else in this world was pulled up onto his knees and held there to prevent him from falling over.

He was to shoot Miles execution style… This had to be some kind of twisted nightmare, but the throbbing pain in the back of his head told him otherwise. Part of him was telling him to turn the gun on everyone else in this room, empty the clip and take out as many as he could, but he knew better. He wasn't a very good aim, and there were so many other guns trained on him, they'd probably take him down in an instant…

…and Miles would be left to suffer in agony, alone without him. At least this way, he would be the last thing his lover saw before he… before he…

"Go on, now… The sooner you pull the trigger, the sooner his pain will end."

His body quaking and his heart burning, Phoenix held the gun at the ready in both hands, his vision starting to cloud over with tears.

"…I'm sorry, Miles…" he whispered. "I… I love you…"

BANG!

"NAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!"

Phoenix hit the polished wood, the gun clattering to the floor somewhere off to his right. Shouts, screams, and gunfire flew overhead, overwhelmed his senses such that he barely had any idea of what had just happened.

And beside him lay Miles, his right hand gripping his bleeding left shoulder as he screamed in pain. It took Phoenix several seconds, but he suddenly realized what had happened and his racing heart dropped into his stomach.

Forgetting about all the noise and danger around him, he reached out and pulled Miles to him, whispering apologies over and over and trying to calm the anguished man. His vision had been blurred and his hands had been shaking, so even at such close range, he'd missed his mark and instead shot Miles in the shoulder. He felt absolutely awful for causing him more pain, but at the same time…

…Were they saved?

Still holding Miles to his chest, Phoenix looked up to see the blond men in suits in a firefight with several men in military uniform. The National Guard! The situation with these radicals had been so dire that the police had called for the support of the Army, and – if he was thinking of this logically, as difficult as that was right now – they had taken the sound of a gunshot as their cue to barge in while there was likely a distraction and an opening.

A feeling of hope rising up within him, Phoenix turned to pay full attention to his lover once more, yanking off his own tie and attempting to use it to staunch the flow of blood from the bullet wound. He was trying hard not to think of what would have happened had he made the shot.

Miles would be dead… the instant they had been rescued…. God that thought made him so sick to his stomach…

But that hadn't happened! His terrible aim had spared Miles' life and potentially saved them both, even though the prosecutor was now in so much more agony. He needed medical attention and quickly, but he wasn't going to get any until this gun battle was over. So, until then, Phoenix just tried to keep him calm and stop the wound in his shoulder from bleeding.

Miles had stopped screaming by now, but he was breathing in sharp, pained hisses and sobs, his battered face buried in Wright's chest. He didn't have the mind to be concerned about his image by this point, caring none about the fact that people would see him like this. He had never been in so much pain, and if he didn't get help soon, he would die. All he wanted now was to be close to Phoenix, to seek comfort and some measure of relief, however marginal it might have been.

Phoenix hardly noticed when the gunfire had stopped, not that the commotion died down much at all by the time a uniformed man approached the two of them.

"This guy's in bad shape! Get someone over here!"

Before Phoenix knew what had happened, Miles had been wrenched from his grasp and was now lying on the floor again, frantic and combative as two men attempted to administer some 'battlefield first-aid' while they waited for proper civilian care to arrive and take him to the hospital. Phoenix attempted to move toward his lover, but one of the men pushed him back.

"Stay outta' the way, man!" the young National Guard member snapped at him, having been given the task of holding Miles' head still so he wouldn't injure his neck thrashing about. This left Phoenix watching uselessly from the side as the normally calm and level-headed Miles Edgeworth fought the people trying to save his life in his panicked state, like a wounded animal unable to differentiate assistance from danger.

It was painful… and to think that he had contributed to it was more than Phoenix could stand. He was barely aware of them, but his own tears were still leaking from his eyes, and he couldn't be bothered to wipe them away.

He was too frightened to feel relief when the EMTs arrived with a gurney to pick Miles carefully up off the floor and place him upon it. Phoenix scrambled up from the floor to stay as close as he was allowed while his lover was rushed from the courthouse, his left arm splinted and his left shoulder wrapped in a tourniquet made of a black towel and a red tie.


End file.
